


Power of Persuasion

by Unknownnobody32



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: 5 Times, Adorable Hulk, Awesome Natasha Romanov, BAMF Natasha, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Clint Hates Sickbay, Friendship, Fury's Eye Injury Becomes an Urban Legend, Gen, Hulk Is Basically An Overgrown Child, Humor, Humorous Ending, Male-Female Friendship, Nat Kicking Some Butt and Taking Some Names, Nat Loves Red Velvet, Nat and Steve Being Bros, Natasha's Intimidating Tactics, Natasha-centric, Not Romance, Parental Natasha, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Steve Rogers-centric, Thor's Not as Brave as He Imagined, Tony's Locked Himself In His Workshop Again, Where Did Steve Learn to be Such a Troll, background pepperony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-02 14:33:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2815565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unknownnobody32/pseuds/Unknownnobody32
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha Romanoff was very persuasive; ask anyone. Being slightly terrifying might help her case a smidge, but regardless, Nat always had her way of making a point, getting what she wanted, or teaching someone a lesson.  Lately, it’s been Steve jokingly reminding the others just how dangerous her persuasiveness could be. Could he only be exaggerating or does he know something they don’t?</p><p>AKA Five Times Natasha Intimidated Someone and the One Time She Couldn’t</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tony Stark

                                                                                              

 

Steve was headed out the tower for his routine morning run when on his way to the elevators, he heard a faint tune playing from his pocket. Slowing his pace, he shoves a hand into his jacket and fumbles for his phone.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Steve? It's Pepper. I'm so sorry to bother you."

"Oh, hi Pepper. No worries, you're never a bother. Can I help you with something?"

"Yes, I'm trying to reach Tony, but -unless it's an emergency- he has JARVIS intercepting his calls. Please tell me that doesn't mean what I think it means?"

"Hate to say it, but we really haven't seen much of Stark since you left. A few of us drop in throughout the day , make small talk, invite him to eat with us, though he always says he'll eat later then waves us away. "

Pepper sighs into the receiver. "Great, he's _still_ hunkered down in that workshop of his. He even promised me he wouldn't isolate himself like some compulsive mad scientist or that he'd at least try to take some breaks in between obsessing."

"Sorry, if he's taking any breaks we never see them."

"I suspected as much. And with me in Chicago for three days, I can't just march him out of there with one of my withering glares."

Pepper can hear Steve's grin over the line. "You _do_ have a way of making Tony behave with a single look."

"Heh, thanks. Still, he can be quite the challenge. If only there was someone else who held that much influence over him. Then I could just have _them_ kick Tony out of his workshop for a few hours and make sure he's taking care of himself."

Steve falls quiet for a second, then speaks. "So essentially, you're looking for someone Tony's more afraid of than you?"

"Well yes, that's one way to put it."

"Can you hold on?" He says, breaking out into a wider grin, "I think I have just the person in mind."

* * *

Almost fifteen minutes later Tony is interrupted in his workshop by an announcement from JARVIS: "Sir, Captain Rogers is requesting entrance."

"What does he want?" Tony grunts from behind a mountain of equipment. "Oh never mind, just unlock the doors."

The doors slide open as commanded and Steve walks in, eyes darting around the room's chaos to fix on the engineer. Tony's face is smudged, his clothes are rumpled, and his hair is mused in all directions- all tell-tale signs that his head's been buried for hours in whatever contraption he's been building.

Steve clears his throat and Tony glances up momentarily to acknowledge him.

"Cap."

"Still in here, huh?"

Tony doesn't try to hide his scowl, "Yep. Still here."

"You getting anywhere with all that…" Steve motions to the odds and ends cluttering the workstation, "…stuff."

"Yes. And I'd be getting there a lot faster if you weren't standing around being a distraction."

Steve frowns and crosses his arms, "Stark, you've been holed up in here for almost two days straight. "

"So?"

"So, have you eaten or slept at all during that time?"

"Uhhh….sure I have." Tony replies hesitantly.

"Really? Are you sure you're sure, because you don't sound so sure?"

"Of course I'm sure!" Tony snaps, "I caught a few winks at my desk here and there. Oh, this morning I had coffee and a few of those doughnuts Bruce brought in …at least, I think that was this morning."

Steve shakes his head. "And that explains why you look like crap."

"Hey! C'mon I'm on the brink of something amazing here! I'll eat when I'm done."

" 'On the brink of something amazing'? " Steve repeats, "That's always your excuse when you camp out in here!"

"Yea, because I'm me and awesome people discover amazing things. Duh!"

And there it was, Stark's signature ridiculousness.

On cue, Steve rolls his eyes. "Look, I didn't come to argue. Actually I…." He leans in conspiratorially, "I came in here to warn you."

At last, Tony drops the tools in his hands and looks up at the blond for longer than five seconds.

"Why, what's going on?"

"I spoke to Pepper a while ago, and since you've been ignoring her advice, she's sending in the big guns."

"Wait, she isn't having Rhodey lecture me again, is she?"

"No, I meant big guns in smaller packages... as in Natasha." Says Steve in a hushed voice.

"Tasha?! What, I didn't do what Pep asked so she puts a hit out on me?"

Steve shrugs, "I don't know, but I did see Nat not too long ago and she was strapped heavy with weapons. And she was looking for _you_."

"Are you…are you implying she's coming _here_ …. Here to hurt me, cuz Pepper wouldn't let her hurt me…wo-would she?" Tony's statement is phrased more like a question than anything.

"She's instructed I refrain from inflicting permanent physical damage." Says a calm feminine voice from the threshold.

Much to Steve's credit, he barely flinches at the intrusion, unlike Tony who leaps a good foot into the air.

Finally Natasha enters, her gaze deadly and determined, dressed head to toe in full Black Widow gear. She doesn't as much as glance at the Captain, instead fixing piercing eyes on Tony.

"All the same, I'm going to get myself out the line of fire." Resigns Steve.

With a curt nod, Natasha steps aside and allows him to pass.

He turns to smirk at Tony, "I'll have infirmary on standby."

"My hero." Tony remarks dryly.

As soon as Steve exits, the billionaire plasters on his most convincing grin, "Sooo how's my favorite assassin?"

Natasha gets straight to business, pointedly ignoring the flattery. "Nothing personal, Stark, but Pepper's my friend too and she asked me to do her a favor, so I hope you can understand the awkward position this puts me in."

Tony's smile vanishes instantly, reflecting the barely contained dread already seeping beneath his skin.

"However," She continues, "That doesn't mean I won't enjoy this…" Her green irises flicker with a wicked gleam that only serves to terrify him further. "Because I _will_ enjoy this."

Any signs of amusement fade from her features as quick as they had surfaced and she wastes no time advancing upon him.

He hears the whine of her widow's bites as she draws nearer. "I am going to give you ten seconds to walk out of here on your own accord. If you don't comply, I will stun you as many times as it takes until I can drag you out of here cooperatively. And trust me, it hurts, so multiple stings are inadvisable."

Tony scoffs, "Are you seriously threatening me right now!? With Pepper's authorization at that!?"

"Miss Potts told me to do whatever it takes to get you out of this room." Natasha explains, taking another step forward. "And I am." She adds evenly.

She begins her count, stalking closer. "One… two…"

"But this is cruel and unusual punishment!"

And closer. "Three… Four…"

"Did Pepper mention law suits because pain and suffering should ring some bells?"

"Five… six…"

He stumbles backward, mere inches away from her.

"Did I tell you I'm on the brink of something amazing?" He asks weakly.

"Sev-"

"Uncle! Uncle!" Tony backs himself into a desk, hands taking a defensive stance above his head. "Don't tase me! I surrender!"

He sidesteps her and scrambles for the door, "See, I'm leaving. I'm practically gone!"

"You best get yourself something decent to eat and at least 8 hours of sleep. Don't think I won't come find you!" She calls after him as he flees the room.

Not minutes later, Natasha whispers into her com, "Okay, it worked. He ran out of here like his feet were on fire."

Pepper giggles from across the line, "Fantastic! I knew you'd come through. What number did you get to?"

"Seven almost."

"Wow, he's braver than I thought. Maybe you could wrangle him into a couple of board meetings sometimes."

Natasha beams with undeniable enthusiasm, "You've got me on speed dial."


	2. Thor Odinson

As Steve savored the last few bites of his ham sandwich, Thor enters the Dining Hall.

"Hey, I was just about to go get you. We still on to train together?" Steve asks.

"Indeed we are! But first, I must heed your example and satisfy my own hunger." Thor says with a nod at Steve's now crumb filled plate.

Steve notices Thor making a beeline for the fridge, "Ah, well you outta try a sandwich on rye. It hit the spot for me."

"I appreciate the suggestion, yet I fear it is sweetness I crave." Thor replies, his voice muffled from inside the refrigerator.

"So even gods get sweet tooths?" Steve teases, hearing Thor's answering chuckle, "Well knock yourself out, big guy. As long as you don't touch what's left of the cake, you're good."

Thor turns around holding a foil covered plate and, after detouring to the cabinet for some silverware, he seats himself at the bar stool next to the First Avenger.

The minute he rips the foil off Steve scowls. "Um, what are you doing?"

"About to enjoy dessert, if you do not mind."

" _I_ don't mind, but Natasha might."

When Thor gives him a blank look, Steve is forced to speak again, "Didn't you hear what I just said? The cake's off limits. "

Thor obviously hadn't, for he frowns at him confused. "I was under the impression that all food items in the communal kitchen were intended to be shared."

"They are, but Nat loves Red Velvet and she had dibs on the last piece. I thought you knew that."

Thor's head shakes slowly, "She never told me she had laid claims on it."

"Well she told me, and pretty much anyone else within earshot."

"Yet still I was not aware. If she desired the cake so desperately, one would think she'd have left a note as well. Besides, Natasha is not present as of now." He tags on, posing his fork.

"Rationalize it anyway you want, it's your funeral." Steve reminds him.

"You exaggerate. Surely this won't be the last bit of cake she shall ever taste."

"Perhaps," He admits, "but don't expect her to be thrilled that you're helping yourself to it."

To Steve's surprise, momentary laughter escapes the Aseir.

"Have peace, my friend. Natasha's wrath is no match for mine." Retorts Thor, thunder echoing his statement like a veiled threat in the distance.

Steve, however, is far from impressed.

"Greater men have said the same and have lost limbs. And one, an eye." He warns sagely.

It takes a second or two for Steve's cryptic reply to register, but when it does, horror crosses Thor's features.

His grip on the fork goes slack, "No doubt you speak in fables. You could not mean… Director Fury?"

Steve's shoulders shrug noncommittally. "No one knows, they're just rumors. But…" He trails off ominously.

"But what?"

"But, some say Agent Romanoff had been promised the last piece of Coulson's homemade pie before Fury sent her on a mission and took it for himself. The day she returned for debrief was supposedly the last time anyone saw Fury with both eyes."

Thor grunts, incredulous yet troubled at the revelation. He wouldn't admit the idea of cake – or at least this particular slice - was becoming less appealing by the minute.

On this sinister note, Natasha Romanoff herself slinks in. "Hi Steve, Thor."

"Hey Nat!"

"Natasha."

She scans the table in an instant and skirts around Thor to peer down at his plate.

"Is that the last piece of Red Velvet?" She inquires.

"It might be." Thor answers carefully.

"Oh," She says, face splitting into an easy smile, "Then enjoy it while it lasts."

Steve shoots the god a knowing look.

" _What_ lasts?" Thor asks, his suspicion rising.

Nat smiles wider, a perfect picture of innocence, "Well the cake of course!"

Thor watches warily as she walks, seemingly unfazed, to the fridge for a bottle of sparkling water and then returns to settle herself in the seat directly in front of him.

Her head dips toward the untouched cake before them, "Please, don't stop on my account. **"**

Thor darts eyes away from her just long enough to turn his smug gaze on the soldier. "And you were saying, Steven?"

Before a comeback could leave Steve's lips, both he and Thor witness Natasha's hand sliding under the table to produce a small yet deadly knife. Steve assumes it was hidden in her boot for emergencies, but Thor darkly imagines it's been concealed in the table for exactly such purposes: subtle intimidation tactics.

Thor narrows his gaze at her, "Do you usually bring your daggers at the supper table?"

She graces him a cruel smile from over her knife's handle, "Sometimes, when I'm in a particular mood."

Deciding some things regarding the Widow were best left unknown, Thor refrains from asking further questions.

Meanwhile, as Natasha takes a leisure sip of water-weapon still in hand- Steve stands to rinse his used plate at the sink. He can't resist needling Thor from behind Nat's back, aiming his closed fist toward his own face and miming stabbing motions.

"I hope you fancy eye patches." Steve says out loud, slapping Thor on the bicep as he heads out the door.

Unamused, Thor glowers at the back of Steve's head. He'd pay for that later on the sparring mat.

"What was that about?"

The sound of Natasha's voice brings Thor out his vindictive reverie. "Nothing. Tis a private jest at my expense."

This explanation appears to sate her curiosity, for she returns to playing with her knife, stabbing it between her spread fingers and leaving pinpoints on the wooden finish.

Thor clears his throat into the following quiet and lowers eyes back down to his uneaten dessert.

Right, he was going to eat that. In fact he would have been halfway done by now if it hadn't been for that horrid tale the Captain had spun him. But who was he- the god of Thunder- to be intimidated by such an account, a product of fear and exaggeration?

With new-found resolve, Thor grips his fork and prepares to delve into his treat once more. Before he dares, he risks another glance at the spy. She's twirling the knife around lazily, unfaltering stare pinned on him from across the table.

Alright. Perhaps that was _somewhat_ unsettling. But no, he would not be daunted. The Lady Natasha might be lethal, but she was not vicious…at least not unnecessarily so; and she certainly would find no reason to attack him savagely over a meager piece of cake.

And so, grinning at her with as much bravado he could muster, Thor defiantly shoves a heap of Red Velvet into his mouth.

Nat pauses mid-twirl to arch a brow in silent challenge.

Feeling brash, the god takes another mouthful, moaning into the bite like it was the most delightful thing he'd ever tasted.

Natasha's lips purse slightly -whether in annoyance or amusement, Thor could not tell-but beyond this there was no other reaction.

This only serves to embolden him further, and he's about to take his chances with yet another taste when he sees her nostril's flare.

Suddenly, an echoing thump jars the table that startles Thor so badly he almost summons Mjölnir on the spot.

Thor, bewildered, looks between him and Natasha to find her hand extended over the counter, holding the knife as before. It's barely piercing the table now –despite the former thud of impact- and at its tip, gouged through the center is something oblong, shaped almost like a…

"Grape?" She offers him, a little too nonchalant for someone who'd conjured fruit from Heimdall knows where.

"Pardon?"

"A grape, would you like one?" She repeats. She holds the blade out toward him, the grape punctured on its tip.

The gesture is deceptively inviting in Thor's opinion, seeming harmless yet only a slice away from nicking his jugular. When she lifts it to eye level, Thor fights the urge to recoil. Instead his hand goes limp around the fork and it slips, clattering on the counter-top.

"No thank you… I … I seem to have lost my appetite." He mutters.

Nat plucks the grape off and pops it in her mouth, "Suit yourself."

He might have lost his appetite but he hadn't lost his sense of self-preservation. After all, Thor was no fool, and if Natasha was in a "particular mood" he didn't wish to stick around or end up resembling his single-sighted father anytime soon.

His chair scrapes across the floor as he stands abruptly, "Excuse me, milady, sparring awaits." And with a bow he departs.

The corners of Natasha's lips turn up gradually once he'd left, eventually blossoming into a full blown grin. Appearing very pleased with herself, she slides Thor's plate over and uses the edge of her knife to dig into the remaining cake.

She licks a dollop of icing off the blade and hums, "Mmm…Red Velvet."


	3. Clint Barton

Steve sticks his head through the doorway marked "infirmary" to find Clint, sitting on the corner of the hospital bed, his torso wrapped in bandages and arm and shoulder in a sling.

“Flying the coop already, Hawkeye?”

Clint beams over at him sheepishly. “Fine, you caught me! But can I be blamed? I’m bored to death here, plus I hate sickbay. Wish I could go back to my own floor.”

Smiling sympathetically, Steve moves nearer to the cot and inspects the deep stitched gash on Barton’s forehead.

“I know, I get it. But the doctors want to observe you overnight and make sure you actually get some rest since you’re _supposed_ to be recovering.” Steve puts extra emphasis on the word ‘supposed.’

Clint rubs guilty at the nape of his neck.

“How you holding up, anyway?”

“Sore as hell, but I’ll manage.” Clint says, attention diverted by the brown paper bag Steve carried. “Aww Cap, don’t tell me you brought me a present?”

“Present?”

“You know I could use a double cheeseburger right about now.” The archer quips, head tilting toward the bag.

“Oh this?” In vain, Steve tries to hide the mystery package behind his leg, “Not exactly a gift. It's um...a little something Natasha asked me to bring in for her.”

"Well, what is it? Is it for me?"

The super soldier makes a face. “Let's hope you won't have to find out.”

Confusion briefly etches its way onto Clint’s forehead, “Oh wait, lemme guess. Nat sent you to bully me into staying in bed.”

“You know as well as I that Natasha does her _own_ ‘bullying.’ Besides, I can’t stay; just stopped by to check on you.”

Clint smirks, “She tell you to be evasive too?”

“Maybe. Seriously though, I got a debriefing to attend with the others, but I’ll drop in later. Get some rest, will ya?”

“Alright, guess I can drag it out of you later. See you, Cap.”

With a farewell nod, Steve goes for the door, until he spots something on the edge of his vision that makes him pause. “Maybe you’ll get that present after all. You’ve got company.”

Clint’s eyes widen in delight because it’s Nat, waving a takeout baggie.

“Anybody here want a burger!?”  
 “Gawd yes, give it here!” He exclaims, making grabby fingers.

“Lay down first. You’re supposed to be taking it easy; not sneaking off down the hallway.” She reproofs lightly, then murmuring to Steve, she asks ,”You find them?”

“Yep.” He slides the brown parcel into her hand and watches Natasha slip its contents in her pocket.

“Do what the pretty dame tells you, if you know what's good for ya.” Steve tells Clint teasingly before finally ducking out the room.

“Sure whatever!” Clint hollers after him, distracted. The smoky scent of Angus beef is deliciously overwhelming and his taste buds are beginning to water in anticipation.

As Natasha steps in, he climbs on top of the sheets and attempts to recline on a stack of pillows without jarring too many injuries. “Kay, I’m in bed. Does that count?”

“Good enough.” She chucks him the bag and sits herself alongside him on the mattress while he rummages amongst wrappers for a carton of fries.

“So, gonna babysit me?” He asks, sharing his handful with her.

She tosses a single golden fry into her mouth, then spares him a glance. “I wouldn’t have to if you weren’t so damn stubborn.”

“Figures.” He takes a long sip of soda, using the break in conversation to think of a safe change of subject. “So uh… how’d you get out of debrief anyway?”

“I handed in a written report so I could be here and keep an eye on you. Nice try, by the way, but you’re not off the hook yet.”

Natasha, of course, wasn't so easily fooled. Again she eyes Clint, who’s shifting uncomfortably and pretending to be too preoccupied digging for his burger to meet her gaze. “The docs told me how difficult you were being. Like a kid who’d rather suffer than admit he’s sick and rest. I’d be sleeping off all those injuries if I were you.”

“C’mon, you serious? You were never one to wuss out over a few bruises and neither am I.”

“I wouldn’t call doing what’s best for your body so it can recover ‘wussing out.’ And I’d say you’ve got more than a few bruises.” She points out, arms folded.

“Well," He mumbles from around his bite of burger, "I’m not gonna mope around here all day like an invalid if that’s what you’re expecting.”

“You still need your rest, Barton.” She insists.

“All I need is strong pain meds and I’m good to go. The nurses can fuss over someone else.”

“This isn’t just a matter of personal health, there’s also professional concerns. Coulson could bench you from the Jakarta mission if you’re not 100%.”

Clint sighs, “Look, it's just a couple of busted ribs and a sprained ankle. I can still shoot an arrow.”

“You're practically concussed and you’re forgetting your dislocated shoulder.”

He rolls his good shoulder, “It's not my dominant arm.”

“It _could_ be if you keep arguing with me.” Natasha deadpans.

“Hah! Like you’d hurt me. And I’m ‘injured’ remember?” Clint mocks, a feigned pout on display.

“You're right, I wouldn’t.” She admits, her fingers twitching over the opening of her pockets. “But I will do this.”

There’s a blur of metallic, then a sharp click, and suddenly Clint finds himself handcuffed to Nat’s wrist.

His face contorts into shocked outrage. “HEY!!”

“You’re not getting out of this room or out of my sight until I’m convinced you’ve spent time recuperating. Now, I suggest we make the most of this and…”

Midway through her sentence, Clint gives his metal bands a good tug.

“Now, now. Play nice and maybe I'll cuff you to the bed.”

He meets her eye, sounding every ounce of sarcastic when he asks, “That's supposed to be an improvement?”

“Let me put it this way-- you really wanna spend your entire recovery chained to me?”

The fake pout Agent Barton had sported is replaced by a very real one.

“Good point.”

“So… as I was saying,” Natasha pulls the straps of her over-shoulder tote across her head, “ I have our Stark pads, a Netflix account, a deck of cards, and some Skittles. What’s your pleasure?”

Barton’s nose wrinkles in thought for a moment.

“Skittles and a movie?”

 

* * *

 

Five hours later, they’re on their 3rd movie. Somewhere halfway through they had both fallen asleep, Barton propped up on his mound of cushions and Romanoff slouched against the headboard. On the end table, the playing cards were stacked neatly next to Nat’s abandoned Stark Pad and fast food and candy wrappers littered the bed spread.

Clint’s tablet lays between them, still playing, the glare from it bouncing shadows off the darkened wall; and there’s a tangle of wires separating the two agents, thanks to Clint. He wouldn’t view anything without the volume on max – for the full effect he claimed- but considering their surroundings, he compromised with Nat and had them watch wearing earplugs.

It’s a blaring film score that rouses Clint from his impromptu nap, driving him to yank the earbuds out in irritation. The swift movement jangles his restraints, reminding him of their presence. He yawns, looks over, and sees Nat dozing a few inches away, her own plugs still secure in her ears and her wrist still bound to his.

He can’t help himself when he reaches over to gently ruffle her red curls. “Daww, aren’t you cute when you’re not threatening people?”

A hand shoots out to seize his: “I have no reservations against breaking your fingers.”

Clint decides not to test her bluff and slides the offending appendage as far away as his cuffs allowed.


	4. The Hulk

"Your 20, Widow?" Captain America asks into the com.

“A coupla yards from you."

"And everyone else's status?"

"Iron man and Thor are dealing with stragglers and Hawkeye’s on standby with the quinjet. We've lost visual of Hulk, so I suspect Banner will be popping up somewhere."

"Yea, about that… One of the reasons I contacted you is 'cause I've got Hulk here and he's sorta holding Bruce hostage."

"Holding him hostage? What, how?"

"He won't calm done enough to change back. He says he wants to stay the Hulk."

Steve can almost detect Natasha’s eye roll. "Oh great."

"No kidding. Where's Stark again, this is usually his area?"

"Still on 32nd."

"Ok… fine scratch that plan."

Steve sighs inwardly. He and his fellow Avengers had fought relentlessly for hours and he had wanted to do nothing more than gather his battle weary teammates and go home. They were all tired, sore, and desperate for nourishment, but here he was babysitting the Hulk on the corner behind an upturned bus.

"You need a tranq?” Nat offers, “I can have Barton there in less than five?"

"Nah, those are last measure resources. This situation calls for more delicacy."

"Luckily delicacy is my specialty. Give me a minute, I'll assist."

"Thanks, I owe you ‘tasha. "

Steve looks over to the Hulk, mouth set in a pout and huge green arms crossed against his chest.

"I know Tony usually handles you, but you're forcing my hand, Hulk. Nat'll be here soon."

Hulk’s head lifts in recognition. "Scary red head lady?"

Steve bites back a laugh, "Yes her, and you and I both know how she has a short patience for stubbornness.”   "Me no want to see her." Declares Hulk, petulantly.

"I can't say I blame you, buddy. But we can settle this now -just you and I- and not have to involve her at all. Whadduya say?"

Hulk merely grumbles in response.

"Too late, I'm already here." Natasha says, appearing round the corner.

With hands on hips, she levels the Hulk with a disapproving glare, "You wanna explain why you’re givin’ Cap a hard time?”

"Hulk say no fair Banner gets to celebrate. Hulk fight, Hulk celebrate too."

Natasha turns to Steve, "What is he talking about?"

"I think he wants to be included in our after battle tradition. You know, hanging out over a few drinks, maybe enjoying a meal. Just celebrating our victory and the fact we’re still alive.”

"Ahh that." She turns back around to jab a finger toward Hulk, "So, ‘cause you can't join the after party, you decide to pull a temper tantrum?"

Hulk re-crosses his arms and huffs loudly, providing all the answer she needs.

“Alright, maybe you need incentive. A simple request, and I’ll have Tony cease all designs on project ‘smash room.’ That is, if you still intend on being pig-headed.”

Steve understood her play and it was a smart one. Though still under construction, the "smash room" was no more than a glorified playpen for Hulk at basement level. Needless to say, he was very attached to the idea of it.

"But Hulk likes to smash! Smashing fun!" He whines.

"Your bad behavior won’t be rewarded.” Natasha scolds, “Those are the consequences."

Oddly enough, the giant rage monster looked on the verge of crying radioactive tears. Even Steve starts to feel sorry for him.

Nat’s expression softens and she crooks a finger, "C'mere."

Hulk quits sniffling then does his best to lean down to her height.

"I'll make you a deal. You and I can go right now and celebrate over pizza, but after that you have to let Dr. Banner return. Promise?"

Hulk grumbles something again, then bobs his head begrudgingly in agreement.

"Don't disappoint me." She says, inflicting her parental tone on him once more.

"Hulk promise." He says more solemnly.

He stretches out his gigantic palm for her and Natasha hops on and gives his thumb a pat.

"Good Hulk.”

Sitting, she swings her legs around, “Cap, tell the pizza joint down on 2nd to have a dozen pies ready.”

“Sure thing.”

Steve waits a moment for Hulk to carefully lift her up, “Oh, and Nat, nicely handled.”

“You’re welcome!” She singsongs as the Hulk trudges her off and down the road.


	5. The Strangers

Steve had been driving for about an hour, Natasha in the passenger’s seat beside him and Clint in the back with the duffel bags. The three of them were taking a short road trip to the countryside after Sam Wilson had invited them to his grandfather’s lodge for the weekend; except now they were making a pit stop at a rundown roadside bar.

  
Ignoring his unease, he pulls into the dusty parking lot between a few beat up pickups and a couple of motor cycles. This frankly wasn’t the sort of place he would ever consider stopping at, but Nat needed to use the restroom and Clint wanted a beer.

  
Upon entry they are greeted by the haze of smoke and the cold stares of every bar patron. Clint pays it no mind, immediately detouring toward the bartender to put in his order.

  
“A lotta rough characters in here.” Steve mutters to Natasha.

  
“Don’t worry, Cap, I’ll protect you.”

  
The assassin smirks at the sour expression he gives in return, humoring him with a look that clearly says _relax_.

  
“Haha, you’re funny.”

  
“Who says I was joking?”

  
Laughing, Natasha slips away for the backrooms before Steve could get another word in. Her exit, unfortunately, catches the leering eyes of a group of burley men surrounding the pool table.

  
“It’s our lucky day, boys!” One hoots as she passes. “C’mere sexy, and pay us a visit.”

  
“Saved a seat on my lap for ya, sweetheart.” The largest fellow rasps with a lecherous chuckle.

  
“What’s da matter, babe?” Another shouts after her, “Too shy to play?”

  
Though Natasha doesn’t dare dignify them with a response, their catcalls and whistles continue until she disappears from view.

  
Once she’s gone, the biggest speaks again, earning a rowdy chorus of agreement behind him. “Why don’t we have a little fun when she comes back? See if we can break her out of that shyness.”

  
“I wouldn't if I were you.”

  
This was said by Steve who was leaning on the counter near Clint.

  
The uproar quiets instantly and the man glares over at them, “Hey! Whu-dit-cha say to me!?”

  
“I said, ‘I wouldn’t if I were you.’” Steve repeats, this time slower and more distinctly. “At least, not if you value your life.” He adds.

  
As with any threat, this one was ill-received, causing murmurs of discord to go around the gang of men until the large one gets to his feet and swaggers toward Rogers. He looms over Steve at about 6’6, reeking of liquor and baring his teeth in a predatory grin.

  
“Whatcha gonna do ‘bout it, pretty boy?”

  
From his peripheral, Steve spots Clint, lips paused on the rim of his glass in alarm. “ _I'm_ not the one you should worry about.” Steve answers, coolly.

  
The large man follows Steve’s jerk of head and there’s Natasha, now on the far side of the room using her cell phone.

  
“What _her_?” He guffaws, “I could toss her over my shoulder.”

  
Behind them, Clint snickers and returns to his drink: the Captain obviously had this handled.

  
“She's not as frail as she looks, trust me.” Is Steve’s only remark.

  
“One night with Big Rusty will tame that lil wild cat, you just wait and see.” Boasts Rusty, licking his lips.

  
A brief look of disgust flashes across Steve’s face before he replies, "You better hope she’s in a forgiving mood. She'll skin you alive if you even think about it."

  
Rusty emits a growl of disbelief, then fixes his affections on Natasha making her way toward them through the crowd, her phone in hand.

  
“Sweetheart!” He shouts, putting himself directly in her path. “Sweetheart, I’m talkin’ to you.”

  
Natasha skillfully avoids him and has maneuvered around when he brings up a hand to harshly slap against her rear.

  
Steve winches, eyes snapping shut at the resounding smack.

  
“I thought that’d get your attention.” Says the gravelly voice behind her.

  
Slowly, the assassin turns around, her jaw clinching as she sizes him up. When she turns back facing Steve, he recognizes what could only be described as murderous glee in her eyes.

  
“Do me a favor, Steve, and hold my phone. This won’t take long.”

  
Steve takes the Stark Phone shoved into his palm without argument, then both he and Barton precede to promptly relocate further down the bar, at least several feet away.

  
Nat rounds on Rusty, at once, approaching him in a few short paces. Reveling in his success, Rusty spreads his arms welcomingly and slides a hand around her waist, “Hey baby, you come back for more?"

  
The second his grimy paws touch her skin, she snatches it away, yanking his arm backward and pinning it behind him.

  
“The hell!? Let me go!!” He yelps, straining against her hold.

  
Natasha falls deaf to his pleas and tightens her grip with a rough tug. Meanwhile, Rusty howls in agony as a sickening crack warns him his shoulder is nearly dislocated.

  
“Argghh! …I’M SORRY!! Pleeaasee!!” He gasps.

  
“Well….since you asked nicely.”

  
And with that, he’s released from his vice and slung haphazardly in the direction of his buddies. Rusty lands in a heap near their feet, concealing his whimpers as he clutches at his injured arm.

  
One of his friends grab a pool stick off the billiards table and saunters up to the redhead.

  
“Looks like the tough bitch is in need of spanking.” He says, swirling it threateningly between his fingers and delivering a noisy slap to his knuckles for good measure.

  
Natasha moves like lightening, kicking the cue out his grasp before the man even realized he’d lost the upper hand. With practiced ease, she catches it midair and uses it to lash him across the knees. The bruising blow has him slumping to the ground and soon he finds himself trapped with the stick flush against his throat.

  
“You’re lucky it was just your kneecaps, you slimy bastard.” She grits into his ear, crushing the cue further into his Adam’s apple. “I’d have you speaking in falsetto for a week.”

  
He answers with a choking splutter and is only shown mercy once he starts to turn an unhealthy shade of blue.

  
Dropping the cue, Nat sends him flying onto the bar counter by a shove from her boot, triggering an echo of hushed gasps.

  
“I thought that’d get your attention.” Natasha says, quoting Rusty.

  
She retains a tone of calm, disdain as she addresses the remaining crowd of brutes, “It would be in all of your best interests to keep the physical contact between me and you to a minimum.”

  
Her request is only met with stunned silence, yet just as she’d suspected, the metaphorical smell of fear had permeated the room.

  
Satisfied, the assassin turns on her heels and goes up to Steve. “Thanks,” She takes the phone from his possession, “I’ll be in the car.”

  
Barton throws some bills on the counter and kicks back the rest of his beer.

  
“Chumps.” He snorts, following Nat on her way out.

  
“Well,” Steve looks over his shoulder at the groaning lump of a man, face-planted into the granite counter, “You can’t say I never warned them.”


	6. And One Time She Couldn't

The elevators opened on the armory floor to reveal Steve and Natasha, both dressed in tactical gear.

  
Nat wears an exasperated expression as she stalks off ahead of him, “You could’ve let me!”

  
Stopping by the door, Steve exhales deeply through his nostrils while he secures his shield on his back.

  
“For the last time, no I couldn’t have. It was way too risky!”

  
“Really!? It was a virtual training exercise. Everything was holographic and I was in no real danger.”

  
She waits for him to key in the passcode for the weaponry vault, then walks over to the glass cases and begins to unload her various knives and guns.

  
Steve joins her and adds a few weapons to the collection before responding, “That’s just it. Every scenario we confront during training is a prep for actual ops. A stunt like that could’ve gotten you killed out on the field.”

  
“When am I _not_  inches away from death? I was an assassin, I was a SHIELD Agent, and now …” She taps the team logo on the shoulder of his uniform, “I’m an Avenger. It all comes with the territory.”

  
This time Steve looked exasperated. “Of course it does, but that doesn’t mean I - as the team’s leader-would place you in needless danger when another play could’ve been made.”

  
“I have no problems taking risks when need be, _Captain_.”

  
She hisses his rank in a way that’s more chiding than reverent; her mockery, nonetheless, does not escape the soldier.

  
“It was _my_ call, Romanoff,” He commands, his inflection low and authoritative. “I say you won't and that's final.”

  
Straightaway, Natasha’s face hardens, shedding all emotion. Her voice turns like ice when she taunts, “I could always **make** you see my side of things.”

  
Steve juts out his chin in defiance, "Try me."

The assassin takes a menacing step into his personal space, forcing the two of them to stand together in a tense face off. They remain there, staring, a hair's breadth away from each other…

…that is, until they both burst out into uncontrollable laughter.

It takes a full minute for them to contain themselves, the remnants of their giggles dying away finally. 

  
Natasha cracks him a mischievous smile, “Ya scared yet, Cap?”

"I'm quaking in my spangled boots." Steve crows, pretending to tremble.

“Yea-yea, poke your fun. That line could've scared the living hell out of anyone else, and you know it.”

“Oh I’m well familiarized with your methods, Widow.”

“I noticed. Are you by chance spreading rumors again about me taking out Fury’s eye?”

Steve sniggers, “That one never gets old!”

"There's several dozen SHIELD recruits who'd beg to differ. Though I'll admit- and not to say I don't hold my own- but I kinda like having Captain America give me street cred.”

A lopsided grin accompanies Steve’s two-finger salute. “Cap’t Rogers at your service, mam.”  
 Nat hardly restrains rolling her eyes.

“C'mon Soldier Boy,” She chuckles, “Let's grab coffee and lunch.” 

  
Steve locks up the last of his weapons and shuts the vault door. “Alright, but I’m buyin'.”

“Fine with me. But hey,” She tacks on, lingering by the door, "That conversation about risk taking isn’t over yet.”

"Nah, I'm pretty sure it is." Says Steve mildly.

"Believe me, it isn't." Nat persists. She tempers her words with a playful nudge—her shoulder brushing against his.

Cap's all smiles when he reciprocates the action, but Natasha doesn't miss him mumbling under his breath that it was _still_ over, according to him.

"Don't make me gouge your eye out, Rogers!"

She wasn’t the least bit serious, of course; and judging from the boisterous laugh Steve echoes down the corridor, he didn’t suspect that she was for a second.


End file.
